Illegal
by Morgana Maeve
Summary: [Axel.Roxas][A.U.][OneShot] He was nineteen. He was fourteen. Their heat was illegal.


Illegal

Morgana Maeve

St. Valentine's Day plus Snow divided by No Work equals Depressing One-Shot Between Axel and Roxas. Oh, the emo-ness!

Rated M for nicotine and underageness, I guess. Ha, ha, I'm a pervert now. (I've sunk so low…)

Disclaimer – Axel and Roxas belong to Square Enix and Disney. But their "Omigod, let's have buttsecks right now!" relationship belongs to the AkuRoku fangirls. Viva la fangirls!

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The air in the restroom of Belleville High is thick with hazy smoke and foul smells. Lazy wisps of gray float to the ceiling, circling about the lone fluorescent light there, and muted red embers glow in the semi-darkness as a cigarette is lifted to lips for a long drag. More gray is expelled into the air, and Axel closes his eyes, lounging uninterrupted in a corner. He is nineteen, in school for a fifth year, and hopefully this time he will graduate.

Outside, Roxas fidgets with the restroom key, nervous and scared. The key won't fit, and his sweaty fingers refuse to keep hold on it. It drops from his hand, the large wooden attachment clattering onto the floor with ringing force. Roxas stops breathing, retrieving the key quickly, and his ID swings forward, the blue giving him away as a freshman. Roxas jams the key into the lock, hand shaking, and miraculously, it fits this time, and he falls into the room. He is fourteen, new to the district.

Axel looks up momentarily as clean air flows across the stalls. Roxas stands in the doorway, outlined by the harsh lights of the hallway. Axel goes back to his cigarette, but his green eyes don't leave the small figure still in the doorway. He knows he is intimidating, and he intends to use it to his advantage.

Roxas coughs as the door closes, the flow of clean air silenced prematurely. He takes two uncertain steps forward, shirt collar pulled up to protect his mouth from this dingy hell. He can't remember why he is here, and he tries to duck into a stall, but the door is jammed and will not open. He darts forward and tries the next one, but it won't close. There is no next stall, and he is out in the open, frozen, vulnerable. The key rattles in his hand as he stares at the fuzzy shape in the corner, and Roxas turns to run.

Something grabs the back of his shirt, and Roxas is lifted off his feet and pinned against the wall. A hand is pawing at the front of his shirt, and for moment, Roxas truly panics before he realizes the hand is gone and is now holding his ID, sharp green eyes examining the telltale blue. A different kind of panic seizes Roxas, and he whimpers softly as Axel grins down into his face.

"Freshman," he says around his cigarette. He is tall, much taller than Roxas, and is stronger. Roxas squeaks in answer, and Axel takes another long drag on the cigarette, blowing the smoke into Roxas's face before dropping him. Roxas runs out of the restroom, eyes streaming, hacking horribly loud. The door opens again and Axel drops the key onto Roxas's head. "Forgot this." He closes the door, shutting Roxas out of that hell and its devil. He rushes back to class, smelling of smoke.

It takes two weeks for Roxas to see Axel again, but this time it is in the gym locker rooms. Despite having smoked since he was thirteen, Axel is fairly fit, and Roxas finds himself staring at the red-haired devil. Axel notices this, and as he walks past, he pushes Roxas into his locker. Roxas falls in, and as red spatters the floor, angry heat washes over his body.

The gym exercises and stretches seem to take forever to Roxas, but as soon as they are done, he pushes himself into a volleyball team. The seniors, plus a smattering of fifth-years, have ganged up on the freshmen; the weight room is closed and they need their workout. The seniors begin the game, spiking the ball into the mass of fourteen-year-olds, and the freshmen are afraid to return the ball. Jeers are thrown across the net as a timid girl picks up the ball and tosses it to Roxas. The skin on his arm is tight over the scrape, and he uses it to lend him strength. Axel moves to stand in front of the net, and several freshmen back away from him, even though the net protects separates them. Roxas still holds the ball, his fingertips white.

"The name's Axel. Got it memorized?" he asks softly, smirking at Roxas. It has not a friendly connotation; it is meant to rub salt into the cut, which has opened again and is leaking blood on Roxas's arm. He will need to go to the nurse for it.

Roxas does not allow himself to curl into a ball under the cruel, green-eyed gaze of Axel, and he defiantly tosses the ball into the air, spiking it straight into the net and Axel's face. There is a dangerous hush on the court. The freshmen stare at each other, wondering in amazement at this reckless display of insanity, and the seniors stare at Roxas, irritation flaring at the brazen display of nonconformity. Anger leaving him and realization filling him, Roxas flees, nearly begging for a pass to go to the nurse, and he stays there for the remainder of gym.

Axel is already up, and he watches as Roxas retreats. Mild surprise does not cover the range of his emotions, but surprisingly, anger is not present. It has been a while since somebody that young has stood up to him. He finds it refreshing, really.

But the same cannot be said for the other seniors. At lunch, they corner Roxas on line and carry him to the row of garbage cans. A teacher sees, but this is the first year she's back in this poor, undisciplined school, and she is too timid to push through the gaggle of students. The five seniors dump Roxas headfirst into a can, and the lunchroom erupts in laughter. Axel, however, does not. Somebody runs to get the principal. Another teacher has stepped forward to help Roxas out, but he has drawn his legs to his chest in shame and is deadweight, too heavy for her to pull out. The crowd quiets as Axel slowly stands up and walks towards the garbage, hands in his pockets. The teacher won't move for him, so he tilts the can and empties its contents and Roxas onto the ground. An electric murmur runs through the room, and the teacher begins to yell at Axel, but he just puts his headphones on and leaves.

Two days later, Roxas finds out that Axel has been suspended for, as his informant told him, "beating the life out of those seniors and anybody else who tried to stop him." Roxas is silently grateful, but Axel's actions have cost Roxas any friends he may have found. People are afraid of him and his connection to the puzzling Axel. They now skirt by him in the hallways.

Weeks go by, and Axel is now back in class, but Roxas avoids him. Axel does not allow himself to seek the freshman out. Weeks turn to months, and the second semester draws to a close. There will be no more gym class and no more quick turns in the opposite direction.

In February, there is a bomb scare, and everybody is evacuated out into the muddy field. Roxas stands by himself, mud sucking on his shoes. It is cold, and he is wearing short sleeves, but he tries not to shiver. The sky is gray, blocking out the sun, and it looks as if snow is soon coming. Sirens pierce the frigid air.

Roxas can see his breath clouding in front of him, and he allows himself one shiver, and it turns into several tremors. Something warm is placed over his shoulders and arms, something large and warm. Roxas turns to see Axel, who is in the process of placing a cigarette to his lips.

"I don't need it." He is practiced at speaking through the cigarette, so his words cannot be mistaken by Roxas. He looks down at Roxas as he loses himself in the jacket, burying himself in the smell of stale smoke. Axel walks away, and is surprised to find Roxas following him. Axel's lean frame slips under the rail of the bleachers, and he holds his hand out to help Roxas up. They both sit on the bottom step, watching smoke trails float to the sky.

The jacket is a substantial connection, a tangible link between them. It creates a bridge that both want to cross, but neither is willing to take the first step. It frightens and unsettles them, and it can be seen in the way Roxas plays with the zipper of the jacket, and the way in which Axel inhales the cigarette. It is too quiet. Finally, Axel speaks.

"You want to leave?" Roxas looks up at him, blue eyes questioning. Axel, for the first time years, chokes on the smoke. He regains composure, and asks again, "You want to go somewhere else?" Something inside Roxas rebels against his better judgment.

"Where?" he asks.

"Home," Axel answers, and they both sneak up the hill and run down blocks, sneakers pounding on concrete. Roxas finds Axel was not joking as Axel leads him up the stairs to his house. There are no cars in the driveway, and the house is empty and sad. Roxas allows himself to believe that he now understands why Axel is the way he is.

Now that they are not running, they both realize that the bridge has become more solid, and that they've both taken several steps forward. They will soon meet in the middle. Realization comes simultaneously, and they both duck their heads, Roxas's face a mild red, and Axel's tattoos more pronounced on his face. He mutters something and shoos Roxas out. Roxas begins to explore.

Almost cruelly, his feet have led him to Axel's bedroom. It is small and carpeted and dirty, clothes strewn everywhere, and cigarette butts dot the dresser. He does not have a bed, but just a mattress placed over a box spring, and the bed sheets are rumpled and have burn marks on them. Roxas sits down on it and fiddles with the jacket, not knowing what else to do.

Axel comes with drinks, and notices his door is partially open. He pushes on it with his shoulder, and it nearly kills him to see Roxas sitting on his bed. He sets the glasses down on the table, and he sits on the other side of the bed, presenting Roxas with his back. This is another step taken across the bridge, and now, if they reach their arms out, they will be able to touch.

The tension in the room is unbearable. Heat rises. Roxas slips off his jacket, and the bedsprings groan at the movement. Axel's shoulders stiffen even more. The room smells of old smoke, a scent Roxas is beginning to identify with Axel. He turns to look at him, and feeling eyes on his back, Axel turns too. Their gazes meet, and the final steps are taken across the bridge. Neither one can hold back as the tension snaps.

Lips crash together, and Roxas finds that Axel tastes like smoke. But their heat is illegal, and they spring apart as quickly as they came together, and Roxas bolts from the room, leaving Axel to pull his hair back in frustration.

The bridge is gone, fallen into a furious river, the building blocks ripped mercilessly apart by the rapids.

They cannot look at each other anymore, the consequences heavy on their heads. Axel smokes more often now; two packs a day, sometimes more, and he's rarely in school, always suspended for something. He will not graduate this year. And then, a week from final exams, he does not come back after suspension. Nobody pays his absence mind, and Roxas cannot go see him, for the law has seen to that. He knows the tension is still there, though the bridge has collapsed. The tension can rebuild the bridge, and it is too risky.

But neither needs worry anymore

Axel's death trickles in rumors around the school, whispered throughout the halls before it is verified by a last minute assembly about the dangers of chain-smoking. They used Axel as the main example. Roxas sits in his seat, numb. They mention something about a funeral, where it is and when it is, but Roxas does not listen. He will not go. He likes to keep his memories alive.

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-Rolls over and dies- I really do hate St. Valentine's Day.

Moving on, this is sort of a response to a question my friend asked me. She said, "Isn't a relationship between Axel and Roxas illegal?" When I asked why, she reminded me that Axel is maybe twenty-something in the game, and Roxas is only fifteen. So yeah, in the real world (or at least, where I live) Axel would so be arrested. Thus, this was born. Depressing one-shot.

I really don't want to hear how much you hate Yaoi, or how much you hate AkuRoku, or how much underageness is morally unacceptable, and that I should be burned at stake for even suggesting such a heinous thing. They didn't do anything except kiss. So if that's all you've got to say, then don't bother clicking the review button, since the Asinine Comment Filter is on.


End file.
